It's A Fine Life!
by Feagalad
Summary: 'It was Christmas Eve in the big city of London. Snowflakes flitted and tumbled down, glinting in the light of the streetlamps. Within the houses children and parents were all snug in bed with visions of sugarplums dancing in their heads. But there would be no warm haven nor scrumptious Christmas dinner for Harriet and Charles Bates.'
1. Prologue: Small Pleasures Denied

**Disclaimer: **I own naught, save Harriet Bates - everything else is the product of another man's genius.

* * *

The girl and her brother sat huddled under a streetlamp – staring hungrily at the hot-roast-chestnut vendor across the street.

"Etty, I'm 'ungry."

"'ush, Charley, I know. But wot can I do? I ain't got a farthin' ter me name and the pickin's been scarce."

It was Christmas Eve in the big city of London. Snowflakes flitted and tumbled down, glinting in the light of the streetlamps. Within the houses children and parents were all snug in bed with visions of sugarplums dancing in their heads. But there would be no warm haven nor scrumptious Christmas dinner for Harriet and Charles Bates.

The two siblings took refuge on a shop stoop and fell asleep in a tangle of limbs, Harriet's threadbare shawl the only thing between them and the cruel north wind.

* * *

"Please, sir!" Charley looked imploringly at the scone-seller. "Could ya spare a morsel fer a starvin' child?"

"Git outa here, ye young varmit!"

Charley fled – he had learned even at his young age when to clear out. Across the street, Harriet was doing her part to generate some income for the small, homeless Bates family.

Clutching her shawl close against the biting January wind, Harriet tried to keep her fingers loose and nimble. "Now ter find a profit'ble target." She muttered.

Not far from her an old man darted out of an ally. He was stooped over and dressed in a dirty green overcoat. Straggly red hair, streaked with grey, poked from under his battered hat. Not exactly the most promising thing she'd even seen, but Harriet was no fool. Her well-trained eyes spotted the fine silk handkerchief protruding from a tattered pocket. That would be something that she would be able to sell or trade for a bite to eat.

Good – the old geezer stopped at a butcher's stall and began haggling for sausages. Harriet huffed hot air onto her hands and crept up close, reaching for that corner of cloth, gently pulling it towards her…

"Now now, wot's all this?" A strong hand clamped over her wrist.


	2. Roughing It

**Author's Note: I don't know how often I can update this particular fic...between my other work, the original books I'm working on, and studying I have little time to spare. But, depending on the demand, I will attempt to make time enough to update somewhat regularly. Enjoy!**

* * *

Harriet shrunk back, dropping into a groveling pose and whining piteously. "Please, kind sir, I meant no 'arm. On me life, I didn't. It's just me little brother was so 'ungry and I couldn't bear to see 'im starve."

"'ush, girl." The man hissed. "Keep yer voice down – I shan't turn ya in iffen ya don't want me to. 'Twould be a waste ta' do that."

"W-what d'ya mean?" Harriet didn't like the sound of that in the least. She had been on the streets long enough to know what it meant when creepy men said such things and began tugging again, trying to remove his grip from her wrist.

"Now, now, now – don't ya go takin' me wrong, my dear." The man cackled quietly. "I am merely offerin' yew a position where yer talents could be put ta' full use. Very lucrative, very steady, and as secure as one could wish ta' be." He patted her head with one grimy hand. "The pay 'twouldn't be much, but there's room and board and a place fer yer lit'le brother."

This time, Harriet really did yank herself away. "Yew keep yer filthy 'ands off of Charley or I'll – "

"I mean no 'arm, my dear, I mean no 'arm. No designs against yer pretty virtue will be made, I assure yew."

It was often an empty reassurance, but the offer of a job that did not involve giving herself away gave her pause. Harriet was under no illusions as to the desperation of her situation – nor did she know how long she and Charley could keep going as they were. It was winter – cold and raw nights and scarcely warmer days that were misery when one was tired and starving. They hadn't eaten for nearly two days and Harriet feared that she would awaken one morning to find a frozen body nestled next to her because Charley had starved to death during the night.

This man's proposal – an offer of a warm bed and food for their empty bellies – sounded wonderful beyond belief. It couldn't be offered without a price, it just couldn't, and Harriet had not yet reached the level of desperation that would cause her to be the payment.

"'Etty." Charley shuffled up to her, head hung wearily and shoulders slumped in defeat. "I ain't got nuffink." Right on cue, his stomach growled and he wrapped his thin arms around it with a pained wince.

That made up Harriet's mind and she turned back to the old man who was still waiting expectantly. "Wot would this job be?" She asked and was rewarded with a wide, yellow-toothed smile.

"I was 'opin' yew'd say that, my dear." He said, rubbing his fingers together gleefully. "Come along wif me and I'll tell ya as we go along."

Considering or no, Harriet had not lost all her caution and stuck out her chin pugnaciously. "Not until ya tell us wot this job is. I ain't goin' one step wif ya 'til I know."

"Of course, of course." The man wheedled. "My name is Fagin, my dears, and I run a sort of ragged school fer young gentlemen and ladies like yerselves. I bring 'em up, right and proper, and teach 'em a profitable trade. There's dozens like yew, all over this city, and they all come ta' me door. And do I 'elp 'em? Yes indeed I do, my dears!"

Harriet considered this spiel carefully, looking down at her shivering little brother. If Fagin was telling the truth, then this could be just the break they needed. And if he wasn't – well – it wouldn't be too hard to slip out of the window of a night, would it? "We'll come, Fagin." Harriet said at last, feeling a heavy weight lift off her shoulders as she spoke.

Fagin cackled and broke into a little shuffling jig. "Wonderful, _wonderful_, my dears. Yew just follow ol'Fagin now. 'Ere, better give me yer 'ands. It's a bit o' a maze over ta' my lodgin's." Taking the hands of Harriet and Charley in both of his own, the old man led the way back up the allyway and deeper into the bowels of London.


	3. Wandering Through London

"Where're we goin'?" Charley asked, trotting to keep up with Fagin's swift shuffle.

"Back to me 'ome, my dears." Fagin replied, veering a sharp turn down a still smaller and more derelict street. Harriet shuddered slightly. This was the part of the city she had always tried to avoid: the part where drunks staggered about by day and prostitutes hawked themselves by night. The stench of the overflowing gutters was stifling and the tenant houses in various stages of disrepair that were clustered together in looming, ever tighter mazes gave the entire route a claustrophobic feel.

"'ow long is it goin' to take fer us to get there?" Harriet asked, turning her face away from a grizzled old geezer that gave her an unshaven leer.

Fagin shuffled on still faster, seeming to play a game of crack-the-whip with either Harriet or Charley as he rounded each street corner. Finally they reached one particularly squalid street and Fagin finally slowed his pace. "There's the Three Cripples." He said, pointing with one bony finger to a tavern – more disreputable even than the rest of the street – and smiling. "Owned by a couple friends o' mine. Well – I say _friends._" He cackled and went on, coming to the end of the street and climbing a set of frankly frightening stairs into a dark hallway. "Plummy and slam!"

A bedraggled girl in a threadbare dress opened the door a crack and peeped out. "Oi, lads!" She yelled back into the room. "Fagin's back!"

"Fagin!" And it was like the waters of the Red Sea that the parson used to go on about had been released in that tiny, crowded hallway as a veritable flood of children came rushing out to welcome Fagin back.

"What took ya so long?" This was another girl with wild, red curls and equally shabby clothing.

"Who are these, then?" A boy with a snub, freckled nose jabbed a dirty thumb at Harriet and Charley.

"Did ya bring us any grub?" A short little black-haired boy dipped one hand into Fagin's baggy pockets with a dexterity that made Harriet consider all of her past forays in disgust.

"Easy, easy there, Dodger!" Fagin chirped, swatting the questing hand away. "Let an old man at least sit hisself down by the fire."

"But who're the visitors?" The freckled boy asked again, peeling Fagin's scarf off as he tugged the old man through the door. Harriet hastily caught hold of Charley's hand and followed the crowd into what appeared to be the main – and only inhabitable – room in that house.


End file.
